


Before There Were None

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [29]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 1980s AU, AU, Agatha Christie - Freeform, Angst, Attraction, Crime Fiction, Detective AU, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Happy Ending, I think?, Murder, Mystery, No Explicit Violence, Poison, Romance, Slow Burn, Suspense, Twin Peaks - Freeform, Who Killed Jason Blossom?, bughead - Freeform, detective Jughead, meet cute, noir, pining Jughead, pining betty, poirot vibes, preslash, red harvest inspired, room story, suspect Betty, the serpents are Riverdale PD, who dun it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 10:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15628680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: The mandatory 1980′s detective AUCompletely set in one location: Pop’s Diner, where Jason Blossom has just been murdered. Jughead Jones, the best private detective in the state, has been called in. Out of eleven suspects, one of them is the killer. Can he solve the crime? Just maybe. But the pretty blonde with eyes full of deep blue secrets may just come in the way.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This was an intense labour of love, and I'd like to thank all of those who supported and encouraged me, as well as a shout out to my girl HufflepuffBetty who beta-ed this beast for me, and I love you for it!
> 
> I hope you
> 
> Enjoy!

Jughead crushed his cigarette into the wet ground with the heel of his boot, and looked up at the diner. It stood out starkly from the dark, rainy night; obnoxious neon lights that were presumably intended to be inviting, looked ominous and dangerous in the starless midnight.  He pushed his pencil behind his ear, and dug through the pockets of his trench coat for his notebook. There was a girl in the window. He stared at her, as his fingers danced through the fabric of his jacket. He felt the metal of his magnifying glass before bumping into the cool plastic of the binders. She stared back. 

“They’re all in there.” Sweet Pea informed him; voice gruff. “We closed the whole place off as soon as Pop made the call. The only people who coulda killed Jason are inside that diner right now.”  

Jughead snorted, wiping the rain from his face. The girl was still looking at him. “And there haven’t been any confessions yet?” He teased as if the thought were ludicrous. 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes. “You should be able to do this in a few hours, huh? Small case like this? The murderer’s in there alright, and you’ve done trickier stuff than this in your sleep.” 

Jughead clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth; eyes locked on the blue orbs inside. “I don’t know. Small towns like this. Full of secrets.” 

Sweet Pea snorted. “There isn’t a mass conspiracy.” 

“That’s what they want you to think.” He quipped.

“Whatever. The place is yours, bro.” 

And with a clap to his shoulder, Jughead was left with his thoughts, the gravel path to the door, and the relentless eyes of the pretty blonde in the window. He let out a deep breath; the remnants of cigarette smoke escaping his lungs, to be replaced with the dewy freshness of the damp, drizzly air. The gritty stones crunched loudly under his feet as he headed for the door; a long stripe of yellow police tape was fluttering in the gentle breeze, a splash of vibrancy; artificial and clinical amidst the smear of darkness. The town, from the little he’d seen so far, had met his expectations. A battered, peeling sign as the train pulled in gave way to a ferocious fecundity of overgrown trees encroaching onto a tarmac laden suburbia. At one point, presumably beautiful, but now tragic in its shadowed loss. This diner was doing its best to keep the darkness at bay; practically glowing with bright light, but as often happened; it had been conquered by the fiendish tenebrosity of life. 

The bell chimed loudly, a cheery tinkle to signal his arrival, and he lifted his head as everyone inside turned to look at him. Aside from the blonde, of course, whose eyes had never for a moment stopped tracking him. He cast his cool shamrock glance around quickly; taking it all in. Eleven suspects, twelve if you counted Pop Tate; the owner, which Jughead certainly didn’t. It wasn’t out of trust, he’d lost all sense of that a long time ago, but rather the video surveillance system that tightly captured the till- where Pop Tate had been the entire night, and was still currently. Jughead nodded minutely at the dark skinned man, before sweeping his gaze over the other patrons. 

The eleven young adults all seemed to be near his age, scattered around in different booths. He most wanted to look at the blonde, so he resolutely kept his gaze away from her and instead settled on the woman perched at the end of her lone booth; staring at the table. Every inch of her read grief, and he walked towards her, stopping only when his shadow fell over her face. “Cheryl Blossom?” He asked, and she stared up at him.

She was beautiful. Maroon tresses backcombed into a high, fashionable look, and a stylish plaid ensemble. The neat lines of her striped suit made the white chiffon blouse look softer, and her huge lips were parted in surprise and understanding. “Yes.” She whispered in affirmation, and he nodded at her. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He murmured gamely, tugging his business card from his pocket and handing it to her. “I’m going to do the best that I can to identify your brother’s murderer.” 

Her lip quivered for a moment, before becoming stiff. Her eyes, which had been but a moment prior; watery, were now an angry, indifferent jade. “I hope you’re better than that joke of a police force we have out there. They couldn’t identify Jack the Ripper if he was cutting up a prostitute right in front of them.” She snapped.

Jughead blinked, but refrained from comment. There were a number of booths undisturbed by human life, but one stole his interest: the booth where Jason and Cheryl had been sitting. He walked towards it and ignored the sharp intake of collective breath from the others. A tall, soggy looking strawberry milkshake remained untouched; whipped cream dripping slowly down over the rim of the thick glass and pooling into a sticky, ugly liquid on the tabletop. He was very aware of his audience, and set his briefcase down beside the viscous goo. He unclasped the two bronze strips with loud metal clacks and pushed it open. The young detective pulled out his clunky camera and took a photo of the milkshake, tugging the polaroid free and sliding it into the netted meshing of his case. He didn’t wait to see if it developed, by this point in his life, he knew his camera wouldn’t fail him. He closed his case up again slowly, choosing to hold it together with his fingers rather than reclasp it as he took up the darkest booth in the corner, lit only with the prussian blue seeping in through the midnight windows. 

It was prickling his skin a little; to be so observed. He preferred to work under cloak but there was none of that privacy available here. He doubted there was ever privacy available here. Not merely in this diner, but in this town with pep. He unpacked his case; setting out his notebook, the case file, the camera, the newspaper he’d been handed on the train, and his silver flask of dilated rum. He set the brown leather into the booth next to him; propped open for him to slide the photos into. Next he tugged off his damp trenchcoat, folding it neatly over the back of the seat and then removed his fedora. He brushed a few stray drops of rain off the top and set it in his case beside his magnifying glass. It was a relief to be out of the get up, professionalism be damned, and he raked his hands through his dark hair, settling into the easy stretch of his tee. 

Quite by accident, he met the blonde’s eyes, and she was smiling at him amusedly. He immediately flushed, looking away from her. But it had been enough time to take her in. Take in the candy floss of her lips and the spun sunbeams of her golden hair. She reminded him of the photos of young Hollywood starlets, now sitting at home in a bungalow in New York, caught in the faded starlight of their prime. She looked too perfect for a place like this. 

“Can I get you anything, Sir?” Pop Tate called from behind the counter. He was obviously reluctant to leave his fortified place of safety.

Cheryl sneered. “Like he wants anything from the  _ poison  _ mill-”

“Miss Blossom?” Jughead called, eager to give the man a break. “I’d like to start my interviews with you, if that’s alright?” 

Maybe it was being called up first. Maybe it was the eagerness to find the killer. He wasn’t sure. But she stood up and stalked over to him; murder in her eyes. He winced at the metaphor.  _ Not murder _ , he adjusted. Perhaps  _ intent _ . As soon as she sat down, he stood up, and smiled tightly. 

“I have to see the body first,” he informed her, picking up his camera. “You wait here, I’ll just be a moment.” It was an old academy trick, but he could see it take effect. She squirmed a little on the vinyl, as he followed the signs to the bathroom. The door to the mens squeaked loudly, and there on the floor was Jason Blossom. He was strewn ungraciously on the dirty tiles. Jughead brought the camera up and took a photo. There was blood everywhere but the smell had yet to permeate the room, for which he was grateful. The bullet wound in Jason’s temple matched the documentation he’d been faxed, and he kneeled down to better examine it. The skin curved grotesquely away from the entrance point. “Jason Blossom,” he sighed to himself, shaking his head as he felt for a non-existent exit wound. “Hey buddy, you’re not doing so hot, huh?” 

The corpse didn’t reply. 

He had Cheryl’s hair, half matted with liquid burgundy. “It’s okay now,” Jughead sighed again, patting Jason’s chest and standing up. 

Beyond the squeak of the bathroom door, there was chatter in the diner. The shock of his arrival had worn off apparently, and now there were hushed whispers going on between the patrons. There was a couple in a booth talking, a petite girl with a pixie haircut and a her broad shouldered partner with his arm slung over her, whispering to each other, and a ginger haired man in a bow tie comforting his raven-haired wife. 

A group of three dark skinned women were all leaning into each other and speaking in hushed tones. Jughead wondered whether they were friends primarily due to their similar skin colour, or if it was just a coincidence. Whatever they were talking about, the man with an angular face clutching a coffee cup, was listening to it intently. Jughead disliked him immediately, and then scolded himself for the thought. Just because someone  _ looked  _ like a killer didn’t mean they were. For as good as the academy was, prejudice was rife when it came to profiling, and even Jughead couldn’t escape the ingrained teaching that if someone wore a tight jacket with bulging muscles they were a perp or a drug dealer. Still, Jughead thought to himself, eyes catching the red and white straws barely visible from the guy’s pockets. Some drug dealers were just drug dealers.

Cheryl was sitting right where he’d left her, and he made his way back to her slowly. After a languid show of putting the photo in the netting; turned away from her sensitively, he picked up his pen and opened his notebook. “Sorry for the delay,” he said quietly, pushing the book towards her. “Just write your full name for me, if you don’t mind, Miss Blossom.” 

She took the pen and scrawled her name across the top, sliding it back. “Call me Cheryl.” 

He examined the superfluous, curly scrawl of her name and hummed. “Nice to meet you, Cheryl, circumstances not included. I’m Jughead.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning back in the booth. She’d regained control, or so she thought, of their dynamic. “What kind of name is that? Were you a hobo in a previous life? What’s your real name? Or are you just like the incompetent nitwits outside? Names like Sweet Pea and Fangs, or god forsaken Mustang. I want someone I can take seriously.” 

Jughead smiled wryly, jotting down a few words under her name.  **_Pretentious cold front. Artificial._ ** “I’m sorry you felt that Riverdale PD couldn’t do more to assist you.” He offered insincerely, shielding the page from her eyes as she surreptitiously tried to get a better look. “But we must thank them, and fate, for knowing I was only a few towns over. One express train and you have a brilliant young detective working on your case,” his half smile was lazy and endearing. He could feel her softening towards him. “There’s a waiting list,” he murmured, trying to appeal to her sense of entitlement, “about half a year long for me to get through, and you got me in two hours. Speaking of which, you must be going stir crazy in this diner, especially considering…” his eyes drifted to the men’s bathroom, and she held herself tightly. Arms once crossed for power, now clutching at her sides in a half embrace. “So after we’ve talked, maybe you could go outside. I’m sure Sweet Pea would be happy to escort you home; get you a change of clothes. You’ll have to be searched, but…” 

She nodded, swallowing hard. 

“Now,” he cleared his throat, spinning the pen on his forefinger, “I’m not going to ask you ‘what happened’ like everyone else, I’m going to ask you two questions. How does that sound?”

She shifted a little, but spoke without heat. “Patronising but bearable,  _ Jughead.”  _

He laughed a little, nodding. “Okay. So, who do you think did it, and why?” 

He wasn’t prepared for the vehenemance of her response. “Reggie Mantle.” She hissed, and he wrote it down immediately. Her hands lay flat on the table as she leaned across. “He’s in with the Lodge crowd and he’s always had it out for my JJ.” She tossed her head towards the left, and he realised with mild surprise that she was gesturing to someone indirectly. Appreciating her discretion, he cast his eyes subtly towards her gesture, and pressed his lips together when he saw the angular face of the drug dealer. 

Jughead licked his lips. “He deals in jingle-jangle primarily, I assume?”

Cheryl shot him an impressed look. “So you  _ are  _ better than our officers.” She hummed. She was remarkably well-adjusted, he thought, for someone whose brother had just died. He reached for her case file, and scanned through the pages; halting at the deaths of her mother and father. A murder homicide when she was just fourteen. She was familiar with loss. 

“You believe in heaven, Cheryl?”

She cocked her head. “Yes. And I believe in hell.”

“Where do you think people go?” 

“My Jay Jay’s in heaven with my mother.” She said adamantly, no room for leeway. “My heathen father is rotting in hell. And so too will Reggie Mantle.” 

“Why did Reggie have it ‘out’ for your brother, Cheryl?” He asked, carefully keeping the judgement from his voice. “Did your brother take drugs?” 

Her face closed off marginally, and her eyes flickered to the window. “He...he  _ tried  _ some. He even ran a deal once or twice, I think. He wanted out, and when JJ asked for it, Reggie wouldn’t let him. They got into some sort of fight and then one day all the tension just stopped. Until tonight.” She met his eyes; they were a dark auburn. “I know now that all the arguments stopped because he was getting a gun. He’s a plebian. The only way he even knows how to settle conflict is by putting a bullet into someone’s head.” 

Jughead nodded. “And what about the poison? Do you have a theory about that?” 

“I thought you’d only ask me two questions.” She pointed out smartly, and he huffed a laugh. 

“I guess I’m not as concise as I thought. I want to know why Reggie would spend so long trying to get a gun, and then kill Jason in a diner full of witnesses. I want to know why the milkshake was poisoned. And I also want to know how Reggie links to the Lodges.” 

She took a deep breath, before speaking quickly. “Jason’s not been himself- hadn’t been himself.” She corrected, “for a while. He didn’t often come outside, but he came with me today, because…” she wet her ruby lips. “Because it’s the anniversary of our mother’s death. Reggie must have known that this would be one of the few times that JJ came outside, and so put the poison in his milkshake just in case he never got a moment alone.” She leaned back, satisfied. “Did I just solve your case for you, detective?” 

He grinned at her, hand moving in a flurry across the page. This so far was nothing like he thought it would be. The vibe of the diner was grieving yes, but not desolate. Not without hope or humour. What kind of place was this? “Almost. What about those Lodges?” 

“Veronica Lodge’s to some extent, but mostly her demon father.” Cheryl informed him. “Hieram. He owns…” she waved her hand thoughtfully, “around half the town. Brings in the drugs. He’s recruited Reggie and he spent some time in prison before that.”

“You sound pretty certain about all this.”

She shot him a look, and he nodded forlornly. 

“That was a fairly corny line.” He admitted, chewing on the inside of his mouth for a moment. “Reggie’s the only one who could have done it,” he verified, and she nodded. 

“Jason was a sweetheart. Everyone who met him loved him.” 

“Why hadn’t he been himself?” Jughead asked. There was the sudden sound of sizzling, and they both turned to see Pop Tate putting some burgers on to the grill. Everyone else was looking too. 

The owner tugged at his hat. “You don’t gotta eat ‘em, but I gotta make ‘em,” he explained. 

Jughead nodded. He understood fear and dwelling in your own thoughts without anything to do. “I’ll have one.” He called. He remembered A. Cooper’s article in the newspaper on the train and added with a rueful grin: “With a side of fries.” 

“Me too!” The ginger with the bow-tie called, and Jughead threw him an impressed look. Most of the females looked disgusted. He could hear them whispering about the food here being poisoned, but he paid it no mind. He reached for his camera. 

“Jason, Cheryl?” He prompted, fiddling with the button. 

She sighed; eyes downcast. Her voluminous hair was fraying a little, the long red tresses falling out of their perfect place. The wide lengths of her thick shoulder pads within the blazer  also looked like they were sagging. “He just felt low sometimes. People don’t understand-”

It clicked immediately. “Depression.” Jughead nodded. “Of course. No explanation needed, and neither is a trigger.” He assured her.

Cheryl’s shoulders relaxed. “A lot of people don’t understand-”

“Well,” he smiled at her, “I’m not one of them.” He lifted the camera to his face. “You won’t mind a picture, would you? For my notes?” She shook her head, and stared straight into the lens with unnerving perspective. It came out slowly, and he watched the smooth, glossy paper unfurl with her image. “Meet Sweet Pea outside, Cheryl. Go home, change, get something you like to eat.” He lowered his voice, not looking at her as he slid the photo into the meshing. “If I’ve read you right, you’re someone who won’t want to be away from the drama for too long. Especially not when it’s about something so important to you. Come back whenever you’re ready. I won’t solve this in three hours. Take your time. Get some rest if you can.” 

She stood up, face pale and drawn tight. “Thank you. I just want him to finally have some peace.” 

He nodded. “One more question. Who should I talk to next?” 

She faltered, before shrugging. “It depends who you want to talk about. If you want to talk about Jason, then speak to Reggie. If you want to talk about  _ me,  _ well,” she smirked a little. “I’m pretty sure everyone in this diner has something bad to say. Well, everyone except for-” she cut herself off, and Jughead tilted his head curiously, a long strand of hair falling into his forehead. She shifted her body slightly, and he nodded. She was angling herself away from the blonde; the blonde who was still watching with those absurdly blue eyes. 

He had everything he needed from her. He liked her, he realised with no small amount of surprise. To lose a mother and a father was one thing, but to lose a sibling, let alone a twin was manifest. She was still going though; still moving. Surrounded by darkness but still alight, she reminded him of what this diner may have been like before the murder. She didn’t ring any alarm bells in terms of actually killing her brother, and she seemed as if she had far more initiative and class than to do it in this diner. He imagined a grand, largely uninhabited mansion where she could have better executed a murder. Not to mention the lack of motive. But then again, he’d been surprised before, and she did certainly seem capable of ruthlessness. And she’d confessed to being largely unpopular; why? “Of course, Cheryl. I’ll see you soon.” He rose with her, and walked her to the door, his hand hovering by her elbow. Sweet Pea gave him a half wave, and he watched as Cheryl transferred between them, before she disappeared into the distant darkness. 

He turned, as the door shut, to talk to the blonde, when the ginger with the bowtie appeared. Jughead resisted the urge to step back in the face of unbridled friendliness as he took stock of the new character before him. Despite the polka dot bow tie and cotton sweater vest, the man before him was definitely well liked. Unlike Cheryl. His hair had a more orange hue than red, so the likeness to the Blossom’s stopped and ended with the top of him. With a freckled face and expressive facial features, Jughead was surprised by him. Whilst Cheryl seemed an embodiment of the town, this guy looked as if he belonged in some preppy, eastern city with big high schools and sports teams everywhere. Somewhere lively and happy with puppy dogs and sunshine. Or maybe, the traitorous part of him piped up, he represented the happier side of Riverdale. “Hey man,” he greeted, “I think our burgers will be ready soon, just so you know,”

Jughead half nodded, shooting a darting glance at his booth in the corner where no one had strayed, all his things lay untouched. “Sure.” He said slowly, as they headed towards the counter. “I’m Jughead.”

“Archie Andrews,” the dude chirped, hopping onto a stool like a graceful goliath. “It sucks what happened to Jason. Do you think you’ll find who did it? Oh Pop, could you pass the mustard? Jughead, you need to try the burgers with mustard. Pop makes the best burgers in the world, don’t you, Pop?”

Quick as a flash,  _ too interested in the murder  _ came and went from his mind. This guy was just good at easy conversation, and from the look on Pop’s face- the most relaxed one Jughead had seen all night- it was clearly for the benefit of others. “I’ll have mustard too then,” he accented, not using the name ‘Pop’. He wasn’t sure if it was a nickname or his real name, but he didn’t feel included enough to use it. He hoisted himself up onto the stool, angling his body towards his booth and the door; Archie on his right. He could smell the burgers now, and his stomach rumbled. He didn’t have the ability to look ashamed, which was just as well, because Archie grinned. 

“You gotta be starved, bro! Did they wake you up to get you over?”

“It was only around ten,” Jughead admitted, reluctantly charmed. “Plus I was pretty intrigued by the story.” 

“Can you believe it?” Archie shook his head in disdain. “Only twenty-six years old, and how will he be remembered? Everything he had was taken from him.” Jughead frowned, but before he could probe, two meals were being set before them. He inhaled greedily; salivating, it smelt delicious. “I just don’t get why someone would want to poison and murder him!”

Jughead picked up the buns with his hands, groaning internally. “Technically the same thing. They wanted him dead. Probably didn’t even care which way it went.” The crust was crispy, and crunched against his teeth satisfyingly before the juicy burger burst flavours along his tongue; enhanced only by the mustard. 

Archie picked at his fries. “I guess. But who even knows where to get poison, you know?”

“Drug dealers, usually,” Jughead offered, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Archie just shrugged, and swiped his fries through the sauce. “So, Archie, you don’t mind if I interview you next?" 

As he suspected, the brawny fellow nodded eagerly, and they migrated; burgers and fries in tow, to the dark booth. Jughead watched as Archie scribbled his name down, courteously wiping his greasy fingers onto a napkin. He didn’t seem as fatigued as Cheryl by repetitive questions, and so Jughead was happy to start with the simple  _ how do you know the Blossoms?  _ “We all went to high school together, back in the day,” Archie began, taking a huge bite of his burger. He spoke through the mouthfuls, which Jughead appreciated from two perspectives. One for the lack of shame, and two for placating his lack of patience. “Jason and I were bulldogs, so were Reg and Moose.” 

_ Reg _ , Jughead thought to himself curiously. Presumably Reggie, and already so interwoven. 

“Cheryl was a cheerleader with Betty, Ronnie and Midge. They were good times but our paths never really crossed until…” Archie frowned, eyes defocusing as he remembered. Jughead watched him curiously. “Cheryl had this outburst one time, in the cafeteria. It was just after their parents had died so no one was really surprised, but I looked up from my table and thought there was something different about it. Something wrong, and I mean wronger than just having your dad kill your mom and then himself.” He drew in a ragged breath, genuine concern laced contritely into his voice. “I went over to her afterwards; told her if she ever needed anyone I was here. A few days later I got a note in my locker. It said goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Jughead echoed, trying to reconcile it with the stylish woman he’d bid farewell to. 

“Yeah. I figured the rest of it. I made it to Sweetwater River at the edge of town just in time to see her jump into the ice.” He stared down at his hands, and Jughead frowned at the glint of a wedding ring. “I managed to get her out.” 

_ Ah _ . Jughead thought. He was currently interviewing the hero. “I’m sure you know you saved her in more ways than one.” He offered, and Archie nodded bashfully. Jughead was further smitten. A ginger, burger loving goofball who saved damsels. He wrote just that in his notes. “You married, Archie?” 

He lifted his hand proudly, the plain gold band glinting even in the dim blue. “To Ronnie. High school sweethearts. Six years next month, I think.” He cringed. “Don’t tell her if that’s not right.” 

Jughead smirked fondly, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He cast his eyes over to the raven-haired woman he’d seen Archie talking to earlier. She had neat velvet bangs that fell into elegant eyebrows and was in a silk purple gown. Dressy for a diner. Whereas Cheryl had matched her setting in the most stylish way possible, this woman was elevating it. Jughead suddenly had the amusing impression that she dressed Archie. This ‘Ronnie’ was conversing with the blonde; body language familiar. “Is your wife currently talking to Betty?” Jughead hedged a guess, and Archie turned to look; nodding. 

“Yeah! Betty’s our best friend.”

Jughead wrote it down, heart quickening a little. This Betty looked like she’d have made a good cheerleader. With those long bare arms visible from her pale blue dress. Her hair swept up into a golden knot and neck scarf accentuating her collarbones. A popular gang they must have been. “Who do you think killed Jason, Archie?”

He faltered, staring down at his food. Jughead used the pause to devour most of what was left of his own burger. “Honestly?” He whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone here would ever do anything like that, but they must have. I can only think they would have had good reason. Jason was liked, you know. He was a good guy.”

“What about Reggie?” 

Archie furrowed his thick brows. “Reggie? No, no man, Reggie wouldn’t do anything like that.” 

“You’re married to Veronica Lodge, right?” He clarified, putting pieces of the case file together in his head from the little he’d been faxed. “Reggie and the Lodges have something of a history, don’t they? Is it possible Jason might have become…” he waved his hand in the air, “a little, “entangled?”

“Dude no,” Archie insisted, voice hard and serious for the first time. “Ronnie and her dad are good people. It’s difficult to succeed and they’re doing what they have to.” Jughead frowned. Archie sounded whipped. Biased. “Yes, Reggie and Mr Lodge have business together but that business isn’t murder. Besides, why would they want to hurt Jason anyway?” 

Jughead shrugged, placing a question mark by Hieram Lodge’s name. “Apparently Jason didn’t want to drug run for Reggie anymore. Maybe the man behind the curtain didn’t like it.” 

“No way,” he shook his head. “Not possible.” 

Jughead abandoned the train of thought for the time being, and reached over for his camera. He took the picture of Archie quickly, sliding it back into his suitcase. “So you don’t have any qualms against Jason either? No issue with the Blossom family at all? Never even cut you off in traffic?” 

The ginger opened his mouth to deny it, but paused. He struggled with something for a moment; the battle plain as day on his face, before sighing. “I guess people might think I had something to do with it. I’m a music teacher at Riverdale High, and I was gonna open a small business. Run like a music tutoring service. Jason and Cheryl were funding me to start with, but after Jason….well, Jason just changed his mind. Pulled the rug out from under me. I was fine, and we were fine, but from the outside I guess...people didn’t understand.” 

“After Jason what? Fell into a state of depression?” 

Archie nodded sullenly. “I’d never been his closest friend, but I tried really hard to pull him out of it. I think the sight of me just made it worse.” He hung his head in his hands and Jughead nudged him gently under the table. The hero indeed. 

“You’re a good guy, Archie. I don’t have to be a brilliant detective to figure that one out. Don’t beat yourself up about something you couldn’t control.” As if searching for validation, Archie’s shoulders slumped like the strings had been cut, and he relaxed into his fries. Jughead scanned over his notes, reluctant to let the red-head go just yet even though he felt like he had most of what he needed from him. He gave in to his temptations. “Uh, Archie, why don’t you tell me what you know about Betty?” 

Archie blinked in surprise. “Betty? I know lots about her, she’s my best friend.” 

“Did she know Jason at all?” He prompted, frowning when Archie started shifting in his seat. He suddenly looked tremendously uncomfortable. He lowered his voice, sensing a lead. “Arch? You know you can talk to me, right? I’m not here to cause any trouble where there shouldn’t be any. I just wanna do right by Cheryl, don’t you want that?”

He drew in a deep breath and Jughead watched him; pen poised. “Betty didn’t really know Jason.” He said, “and that’s the truth.”

It sounded very much like a half-truth, but Jughead could sense that he was done. “Alright then. Send her over.”

“Betty?” 

“If you don’t mind?” He challenged. 

Archie nodded decisively. “Sure.” He reached over to take their plates, and Jughead thanked him quietly, watching as Archie placed them on the counter. He said something inaudible to Pop, but whatever it was made the apron-wearing man smile. Jughead purposely busied himself with his notebook when Archie approached Betty. Something about her set him on edge, and he knew at this point in the game to trust his instincts, except he wasn't sure what his instincts were telling him. Was it just attraction? A pang of lust and intrigue that he hadn’t experienced in so long that his body didn’t know what to do with it? Or was it a residual human sense of danger? Was she his femme fatale? It was hard to tell. 

“Archie said it was my turn?” Came a soft, sweet voice. 


	2. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I could find salvation in her eyes. But with every careless word that's spoken, I just might love you a little bit less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Archie said it was my turn?” Came a soft, sweet voice. Jughead’s stomach flipped and he swallowed as he looked up at her. Her voice was somehow sweet as candy floss and yet dripping with sex. A femme fatale? An ingenue? He didn’t know, and it was twisting his insides and making his skin flush hot. Up close her eyes weren't just blue. There were two aegean berries with stripes of arctic sapphire, and she was haloed by the light. 

He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, and instead got a lung full of her perfume. Flowers and fruits. Ingenue, then. No true femme fatale would be so blatantly appealing. He gestured to the seat opposite him. “Betty,” he greeted, watching as she sat down. The soft blue fabric of her dress tightened around her thighs as she smoothed it to take her seat, and he dragged his eyes back towards the notebook; pushing it towards her. “If you don’t mind writing your name for me.” 

She took the pen and wrote it slowly, but didn’t pass it back. He frowned, looking up at her. It was difficult, to maintain eye contact when she was so beautiful. She had a face for screen. Hollywood starlet indeed. “Why?”

Her lips moved, but his ears hadn’t picked up anything. He’d heard white noise. “Uh-what?”

She smiled, her lips curving into a gorgeous smile. “Why did I have to write my name?” She asked, elucidating, pushing his notebook back towards him with the pen neatly in the crease. He cleared his throat; head bobbing. 

  
“Your handwriting,” he managed, “graphology. It’s the study of who a person is via how they write.” He looked down at the neat letters of her name.  **_Betty Cooper._ ** As he looked at it; he frowned. It was familiar. Why was it familiar? He racked his brain, before realising he’d seen the name Cooper before and associated it with Riverdale too. He turned to glance into his suitcase and sure enough, neatly folded was the newspaper he’d been given on the way in. It took a special type of journalist to type out an article on the night of the murder, but A Cooper had done just that. 

It read as follows: 

_ Fries with a Side of Murder - By A. Cooper, Riverdale Register  _

_ Picture it. It’s a warm night at Pop’s diner in the heart of our small town: there’s good food and a sweet smile and everything’s fine. Until it’s not. Jason Blossom’s murder is a close call in more ways than one. I, personally, do not go to Pop’s. The grease and the heart-attack box combo meals don’t appeal to this journalist, but finally something occurs that does- and it’s not on the menu. Our local police department have failed: as usual. A new, private detective is being brought in to dissect the rotting husk of the corpse that is Riverdale. We all know who the suspects are, and we all hope that Mr Jones finds the culprit. We hold no prejudice here, and our thoughts, and hearts, are with the grieving Blossom family. May you find peace soon.  _

They knew his name even though he hadn’t told anyone he was coming. They’d known on the same night, and drafted up an article. It had to be a woman, for that sort of persistence. A woman who thought like Cheryl about the police force, and who didn’t hold  _ prejudice.  _ Prejudice against who? The Blossom Family? He mulled over it for a moment, before Betty pulled him from his thoughts. 

“Graphology?” She repeated, hands on her neck distractingly. “Does it work?”

“I did a rotation in the academy.” He answered; non-committal, cogs still turning in his head. A breeze wafted through the diner and it caught his attention. There was a window open, only small, big enough for a bird to fly through, and just beneath the appealing scent of burgers, was the scent of trash. It must be kept just outside. The Coopers didn’t like the Blossoms. Why not? Betty had been the only person Cheryl thought liked her. His eyes swung back to the blonde beauty before him. 

She smiled coyly, her voice quiet. “What does the way I wrote my name say about me?” She asked.

He looked down at the page. Her name was written in neat cursive; sensible and girlish. “Organised.” He told her honestly, “the letters are joined which shows that you care about how you’re perceived, but not so much so that it clouds the clarity of the letters.” He pressed his fingers over the double o and frowned. “You slant your words to the left and wrote near the margin; that should tell me that you think about the past a lot more than the future. Clinging to it, perhaps?” He looked up at her, finger still pressed into the words. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were wide and unguarded. “But crucially, Betty, I can feel how hard you wrote this into the page. You wrote your name with  _ force,  _ and that suggests that you’re someone under a large amount of pressure. Are you stressed at the moment?” 

Her laugh was shaky, and she brought a hand up to touch her flustered cheek. All her sexual appeal and coquettishness was gone. She looked raw and split open. Jughead felt more in his element now. Whoever this girl was, she was hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was. “Wow, you really are the best, I mean…” she laughed weakly, “that’s incredible. All that from my handwriting?” 

“It’s not always accurate.” He murmured, his voice suggesting the opposite. “Do you feel they’re accurate?” 

“I heard about this case you solved,” she said instead, and he scrawled the world  **_defensive_ ** without looking at the page. “When you were over in Seaside. The um- the one with the woman called Dinah? Who’d been blackmailing the mayor?” Jughead nodded. He’d been well compensated for that case. “I was following it, you know,” she confessed, gently setting her hands onto the table top. There was a simple pearl bracelet around her wrist and her nails were painted white. Both femme fatale and ingenue crashed into each other in his mind. She was disrupting his thought process. He couldn’t get a fix on her.  “I like mysteries. But...your reasoning was…” she shook her head in awe, hair catching on her smooth white shoulders. “It was incredible. And it helped everyone see how amazing you are.” 

“I was considered a two-bit hack before that,” he confessed. “You like mysteries?” 

“My parents are journalists.” She said with a rueful grin. “I’ve been surrounded my whole life with people who want to chase a story.” 

“Your mother wrote an article about tonight. I had the pleasure of reading it on the train.”

Betty grimaced, and Jughead watched curiously. Not her mother’s daughter then. Closer to her father. Was she a farmer’s daughter, perhaps? “My mom can be...difficult. She expects so much from us. If I’m under any stress…” she gestured to the notebook in his hands. “It’s because of her. She just...she’s always talking about the fact that I’m not married, or that I haven’t achieved everything she’d achieved.” 

It was plausible, Jughead thought to himself. Parents were often the source of stress. But then again, so was hiding a murder. He was about to ask how well she knew Cheryl when different words tumbled past his lips; “you’re not married?” 

She smiled wryly, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. “No.” She lifted her ringless hand and he frowned in confusion. Why wouldn’t she be married? She was gorgeous. “Neither are you and I bet you don’t get any heat for it, either. Because you’re a man.” 

He cocked his head a little. “It’s an unfair world.” He agreed, and she nodded. “Betty, do you know that when I was talking to Cheryl she told me about you?” 

Betty swallowed thickly. “Did she?” 

“Yes,” he lied, “she said that of all the people in this diner you were the only one who might say something nice about her. Why do you think that is?” 

She shrugged warmly, a pleased smile on her face. “I’m just _nice,”_ she insisted. “I’m friendly and I don’t think Cheryl had a lot of that growing up. Her upbringing was...rough, and people were always trying to fix her or be there for her, but she just wanted someone to treat her normally. To treat her nicely.” The wind was picking up outside and it ruffled her dotted neck scarf. She was stunning elegance and a careless belle. “I’ve never asked her about things she didn’t want to talk about. I was always just nice and by her side. Not behind her for support, or in front of her to guide, but beside her to go through it together. I think sometimes people just need a non-judgemental platform.” 

“You’re nice,” Jughead surmised dryly, though he could believe it. She looked like the sweetheart. A modest dress, a classic beauty, accentuated with pink and hair like sunbeams. Bright and evershining. She nodded. “Tell me about Archie and Veronica.” He said, diverting away from Cheryl. 

Betty made a noise from her throat, and her eyes landed on his flask of rum. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. 

“It’s diluted.” He offered, when she wouldn’t speak.” Some of these cases are rough and you need a little kick to keep going.” 

“I wasn’t…”

“But you were thinking it.”

She flushed guiltily, the reaction honest and sincere. Perhaps the sweetheart after all, but definitely not an ingenue- he crossed it off with mild irritation. He couldn’t get a fix. She was too smart. Too perceptive. “All the best detectives have an addiction in the stories,” she teased quietly. “Sherlock and cocaine, the Continental Operative and alcohol. I just thought….maybe that’s where the brilliance comes from? That for every rise of talent there’s a character fall of a fatal flaw. Something that makes you human.”

He grinned at her, amused despite himself. “You think I’m inhuman?” 

“I don’t think you have any flaws I’ve seen.” She concurred. “You’re attractive and clever and capable in a unique way. It’s refreshing.”

Was she flirting with him? During her interrogation? Not that it seemed remotely like an interrogation, and yet he couldn’t let it lie. “Then I think the men in this town must be remarkably thick.” He said, not meeting her eyes. “To not have married you.” 

Her blush was the same colour as one of his favourite rose bushes; a dark, mossy green thing with fantastic blobs of magenta rosewood in the heart of London. That had been a tricky case, but the scent of those flowers had always centred him more than the salty brine of the atlantic ocean. 

“Tell me about Archie and Veronica.” He suggested. 

She nodded. “We were best friends in High school, all three of us. We...well, Veronica and I had a falling out a few months ago. We’re trying to patch things up, but Archie’s always been one of my best friends.” 

There was something concerning in her voice. Something he couldn’t place. He probed a little. “Do you see each other often?”

She half smiled. “We’re neighbours actually. He and Veronica now live there together, but for the longest time it was just me and him; side by side.” 

“The girl next door.” He whispered in realisation. She scowled, and he filed it away. “Archie and the music business,” he murmured, “what do you think about all of that?” As she fell into the impassioned rant that he’d expected, he listened more to the way she spoke than about what she was saying. She spoke of Archie with a softness, a protectiveness, and yet still something hidden around the edges. Archie had been defensive too, about Betty. It was dawning on him now, and he winced at the pang of disappointment. She was in love with him. “What do you think about adultery, Betty?” He cut her off, and her eyes widened. 

“Veronica would never!” She insisted, and he tried to keep his face neutral in the wake of her surprising outburst. That was….weirdly genuine. He looked down at his notes. She was talking now about how her father had helped Archie get his job back at the school, and how after she’d heard Cheryl’s scream from the bathroom she’d been so scared. 

Words were flashing through his mind, and his pen scribbled them all down, and then crossed them all out in anguish.  **_Femme fatale? Ingenue? Farmer’s daughter? Girl next door? Damsel in distress? Sweetheart?_ ** “Betty, I’ll level with you,” he said, a headache forming behind his eyes. “You’re a perceptive woman, you like mysteries, and you’ve lived in this town your whole life. Who do you think did it?” He leaned forward, and startled at the rapid dilation of her pupils. Was she- did she find him attractive? Obviously she’d said as much, but she couldn’t have meant it. He leaned back uncertainly, and tried to see past the dazzling vision she presented to the world. 

Goosebumps were prickling along her arm, and someone shut the window with a bang; warmth immediately seeping into all the cold spots. “I think,” she said carefully, “that Reggie did it.” 

He swiped his fingers through his hair, accidently nudging the pencil out from behind his ear to clatter onto the table top. “You think it’s Reggie?” He asked incredulously. “Why?” 

“I can’t think of anyone else who would have a grudge against Jason.” 

Jughead was beginning to think that Cheryl and Betty had killed Jason together; their stories matched so well. “What do you think about the fact that no one heard the gunshot? Small place like this, I mean, a gunshot should have shaken all these windows. But no one knew Jason was even dead until Cheryl went to see where he was in the bathroom, right? Why he’d taken so long? And then she screamed. The only person who’d been sitting with him all night and his milkshake was poisoned.” 

Betty frowned; clearly upset. “You think Cheryl killed her brother?” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Cheryl loved her brother. More than anyone in the world, she would have done anything for him.” She insisted, and Jughead sighed at the honesty in her voice. She was telling the truth, he could tell that much. “Maybe Reggie wasn’t in his right mind, maybe he was angry or- I don’t know! I’m not the detective!” She yelled in distress.

He reached across the table; concerned, and touched her hand. It was so small and delicate. So soft against his rough, calloused one. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “I’m sorry.” Her fingers gripped his in desperation, and he was struck by the water swimming in those endless eyes. She was crying. He’d made her  _ cry.  _ He felt like a monster and let out an empty breath and parted his lips. “Oh Betty, I’m sorry, I-”

She sniffled, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you think I am,” she hitched, “whether you think I’m- I’m sleeping with my best friend behind my other friend’s back, or that I’m covering for Cheryl, but you’re wrong.”

“Okay,” he whispered, staring at their hands. It felt like a live current was passing through them, and he withdrew his own carefully; afraid of the connection. Was she playing him? Was she using his obvious attraction of her against him? He couldn’t trust her. He wouldn’t trust her. “I need to take a picture.” He distracted, trying not to think about their moment, and fetching his camera. She nodded, looking a little winded, and sat still for him to press the shutter. “Before you go, tell me about Hiram Lodge.” 

Her eyes tracked the photo as he slid it into his briefcase, and he leaned back to look at her curiously. He hadn’t been here long but money was clearly a factor in the lives of those who lived in the tarmac-laden suburbia. He imagined Jason and Cheryl inheriting all that money after the deaths of their parents; cold hard cash that was nothing compared to the smile of a loved one. He thought of the silk purple dress that Veronica Lodge was wearing, and how Hiram owned half the town. He wondered what it would be liked to live in this town with no money;  _ unimaginably worse _ his mind supplied. “Hiram’s….an investor, I suppose,” Betty sighed. It sounded like a topic she was exhausted with talking about. “He’s what V and I had the fight over. I thought he was buying up too much stuff and that she was helping him do it. There was this drive in,” her eyes sparkled with faded memories, “it was old and decrepit but it was ours and we loved it. He bought the drive in land and just destroyed it. There’s nothing even built on it, and Veronica knew about it and didn’t tell us.” She scoffed, before softening. “But it’s just a thing. And things can’t replace friendship.” She spoke as if it were a lesson learned.

“And money can’t replace loved ones,” he mused. “Does Hiram trade in drugs, as far as you know?” 

“Those are the rumours. I don’t really know, though. I couldn’t say.”

He chewed on the inside of his mouth for a moment; pondering. There was a barrier now, he was sure, between the two of them at the table. She was hiding something. Something big. “Why does your mother dislike the Blossoms?” 

She blanched at that. “She doesn’t.” She spluttered, but her voice quivered minutely, and he merely arched an eyebrow at her. She amended her statement. “Well, okay, she does, but not- you hadn’t seen Jason and Cheryl in their natural habitat, they can be...well, they’d had a difficult life. Sometimes they can be misconstrued and my mother is…” she exhaled despairingly. “My mother is always looking for a fight.” 

Jughead bit back his smile. He admired her, a little bit. All her lies were brief and within reason; they left gaps in all the right places for you to fill in the blanks and believe it to be your own analysis. “She sounds like quite the woman.” He said. “Thank you, Betty.” 

She stood up to leave, but lingered at the table, her eyes seeing too much. He bit the bullet and looked up at her, soaking in the beauty. She oozed character, she had more depth in one of her eyelashes than most people did in their entire bodies. “Jug,” she whispered, bottom lip caught between her brilliant white teeth. “Can I sit with you?” 

He frowned; surprised by her yet again. “What?”

“Whilst you conduct the rest of your interviews? I won’t speak, if you don’t want me to, I just…” she offered a half smile. “I think it might be the opportunity of a lifetime to see how you work, and if Jason and tonight has taught me anything...it’s that we should grasp these opportunities before they pass us by. Before it’s too late.” 

He was nearly dizzy from all the thoughts racing through his mind. An ally was good, that was for sure, especially someone as insightful as her. Someone who knew the town. But it also meant she would be able to hear everyone’s stories, amend her own. She was also wickedly intelligent, and could have been manipulating from the moment their eyes met through the glass of this diner. The thought of her beside him, of her bare arms near his. The thought of smelling that shampoo again and basking in the presence of her intoxicating femininity was overwhelming. She was right though, as he was beginning to suspect she often was, that life was short.  “You’re on the inside, Coop,” he grinned, smiling at her squeal of excitement as he stood up, and let her push in beside him. She moved the suitcase to sit between them, for which he was grateful, and he nodded at her, before heading over to the couple in one of the lighter booths. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and check if she was looking through his notes or worse; watch him, and instead took in the girl with the pixie cut, who still looked fairly shaken up. “Hi,” he greeted. “I’m Jughead Jones.”

“Moose and Midge,” the broad shouldered boyfriend said in a gruff voice. “She’s pretty broken up, dude, and we’ve answered so many questions-”

“I understand that.” He said smoothly, “but the sooner I talk to everyone, the sooner you can all go home, how does that sound?” 

The idea clearly appealed to the petite girl, and she nodded, standing up. The man was more reluctant, but stuck by her, and soon the two of them were writing their names into his notebook. Their eyes landed on Betty, but they made no comment. Jughead wondered if it was because they were afraid, or because this was a regular occurence. He handed Midge some napkins from the small silver holder, and she wiped her eyes. “We told the police everything,” Midge managed weepily. “Poor Cheryl, this town is so horrible, I hate it,” she cried, and Jughead watched as Betty reached over to comfort her. 

He turned his attention to Moose. “Did you know Jason very well?” 

Moose nodded. “We were bulldogs back in the day. I wouldn’t say we were best friends or nothin’,”

“Are you good friends with Reggie?”

Moose frowned. “Reggie?” He repeated, “what the hell does Reggie have to do about any of this?” 

“They’re really good friends.” Betty whispered under her breath, and Jughead nodded, writing it down. The sight of him making notes was setting Moose on edge, and he kept straining to see what was written. Jughead closed the book to urge him to stop. “Nothing, Moose,” Betty soothed, “Jug’s just asking questions.”

She was so calming. But where the hell had ‘Jug’ come from? “Betty’s right,” he said softly, “now do you know if Reggie and Jason had been on good terms lately?” 

Moose had relaxed marginally, but still looked angry. “Reg doesn’t talk about stuff like that, and like I said: I’m not friends with Jason.” He spoke in harsh monosyllables when he was angry, and it aged his face.

Midge seemed mildly embarrassed by her boyfriend’s tone. “He’s closer to Kevin, really.” She assauged.

“Kevin?” Jughead asked curiously, and startled when Moose’s entire body language changed. His mind flittered back to the suspect list; to the name he’d paid no mind to. “Kevin Keller. You’re good friends?” He verified skeptically.

“They’re best friends.” Midge answered with a small smile, perking up a little at not having to talk about Jason and eager to run with it. “They do wrestling together and they go for night runs all the time." 

Moose squeezed her shoulder. “They don’t need to know about that, babe.” He growled tersely, but she continued on; unaware to the tense lines of her boyfriend’s face. Jughead and Betty made small  _ ooh  _ sounds in unison, and he turned to shoot her a look at the same time she did. He tried to bite back his smile but was largely unsuccessful. Moose stood up angrily, almost vibrating as he seethed. “You don’t know anything, man!” He yelled, and the rest of the diner turned to look.

Jughead lifted his hands placatingly. “I didn’t say anything, okay?”

“I’m not stupid. You think you can just waltz in here and judge us? That’s bullshit-”

“Why don’t you go and sit back down?” Jughead said to Midge, keeping his voice level and lounging back in his seat; the perfect picture of calm. “Thank you for your cooperation. Maybe order your boyfriend something to drink. Tea is especially calming.” 

Midge nodded, eyes concerned, as she steered a still frothing Moose away from the booth. “Oh and Moose,” Betty called sweetly after him, loud enough for the entire diner to hear, “Would you tell Kevin it’s his turn?” 

Jughead couldn’t hold his smile back then, wide and toothy it spread across his face and he looked at her. “You’re a regular Watson, aren’t you?”

She shrugged, teasing him back. “I prefer Arthur Hastings.” 

His eyes landed on his briefcase between them and he swore under his breath. “I forgot to-”

“I took a photo of them.” She said simply, pointing to the meshing. “No need to worry.” 

_ Huh.  _ He thought to himself, watching as Kevin Keller made his way over. Hasting’s indeed. Jughead couldn’t glean much from the way Kevin wrote his name down, because the peculiarly muscled man was too angry and distracted by looking over at Moose and glaring at Jughead. He scowled when Betty took an obnoxiously loud photo of him and Jughead hid his smile behind his hands. “So, Kevin,” he began, “you seem upset.” 

“Listen,” he began angrily, voice haughty and body language stiff. “I know how this works, okay? My dad’s a sheriff a few towns over.” 

“Defensive.” Jughead murmured, and Kevin cut him off. 

“I saw what you were doing to Moose; riling him up. It’s not going to happen to me.” 

Jughead sighed. “Okay, Kevin,” he said, setting down his pen and folding his hands together. This man was already too defensive, he wouldn’t respond well to Jughead writing things down about him. “How about you tell me what you know about Hiram Lodge and Reggie Mantle?”

Kevin’s face twisted up in confusion and he looked between Jughead and Betty. “What do they have to do with any of this? Hiram and Reggie didn’t give a damn about the Blossoms.” He scoffed. “I can’t believe Cheryl is trying to pin this on them. Don’t listen to her. She’s always hated the Lodges.” 

Jughead nodded, grateful for the change in opinion. “So Veronica and Cheryl aren’t friends? Even though they went to High school together? Even though Veronica’s current husband saved Cheryl’s life?” 

Betty hummed thoughtfully and Kevin paused. He massaged his temples a little. “I...I  _ guess.  _ Cheryl and Veronica have always been sort of...frenemies, I mean? Just because Archie saved her life doesn’t mean she has to be friends with his wife.”

Jughead nodded, remembering Archie’s hands carrying away their plates. “He has scars all over his knuckles. Is that from saving Cheryl?”

Kevin went ashen as he remembered. “We were there that day, at the lake with him. I drove him over to Sweetwater, Archie had to…” he shook his head, “he  _ punched  _ through the ice. It was fucking amazing and the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Right, Betty?”

Jughead turned to his ally, remembering that she had grown up in this town. That she wasn’t really on his side, but rather on the inside. That she had donned her cheerleading uniform and walked to school, that she and Archie had grown up together and she and Cheryl would have waved to one another in the cafeteria. That she had an entire life here that he knew very little about. She nodded in concurrence. “He was amazing.” 

Jughead nodded. “Who do you think had a motive to kill Jason?”

“To kill him?” Kevin choked, “no one! But I know people who had a grudge against him. Three, to be exact. The Pussy Cats.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes; a teasing lilt in her voice. “Really, Kevin? The Pussy Cats?” 

“Laugh if you want, Betty, but Jason shut down their speakeasy a few months ago. Have you seen them perform live since?” 

Disregarding the thought of three giant kittens mauling Jason to death, Jughead looked between the two friends thoughtfully, and then turned to the only group of three in the diner. The three dark skinned girls with cat ears on had been talking quietly for a long time. He kept them in his peripheral. “Do you know why Jason closed down their speakeasy?” And which sort of town still had a speakeasy anyway? 

The bulky man snorted. “Yeah, because Jason was always down to talk to me.” He sneered sardonically.

Jughead didn’t think he liked Kevin. He was encouraging an affair and was clearly a gossip; stuck on the outside of things but unafraid to look in behind closed doors and spread around what he’d seen without truly understanding it. Had Jason perhaps been some closeted homosexual? Who’d promised to love Kevin and then broken it off, leading Kevin to kill him? It didn’t make sense, though. The poison in the drink; expensive and rare and instant, would need to be procured by someone with connections. Not with someone who shared their surname with a Sheriff from a few towns over. Not someone so clearly invested in physical appearance. He was suddenly angry; furious with this self-centred, overly righteous man before him. “Go back to your booth.” He spat, reaching for his hat and coat. He stood up, tugging them on, and met Betty’s wide eyes. “I want Reggie next.” He ordered. 

Betty nodded, concerned, and he walked away from her and out into the night. The two am air was blissful against his overheated skin, and he breathed in the green and the scent of fresh earth. The dark sky above him twinkled with a few stray stars, and the moon was nowhere to be found. Hidden, out of sight, by huge ashen clouds. He tugged a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it; nodding at the long haired officer who was leaning beside the police car in the parking lot. He walked over to him slowly; inhaling the smoky sweetness of the tobacco. 

Joaquin, the officer who’d met him at the train station, waved at him. “Going alright, boss?” He asked. He looked too awake. He’d probably recently been on break. 

He tugged his hat further down his face to shield from the drizzle. “It’s a fucking mess in there.” He confessed. “There’s something about this place that creeps me out. It’s unnerving.” He turned to look at the bright, glaring lights of the building he’d just vacated and his eyes caught a flash of blonde hair. “Tell me what you know about Betty Cooper.” He insisted, and Joaquin lifted his eyebrows in surprise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment! mwah mwah x


	3. The Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know the contents of your heart. It's just the same as the contents of your character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Tell me what you know about Betty Cooper.” He insisted, and Joaquin lifted his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Hey man, I know you’re the best and shit, but it ain’t her. She’s like a town icon. She organises rallies and stuff; gives speeches at the town hall. The Mayor loves her.” 

Mayors liked people who did things for them. People they could control. Jughead took another, deep drag, and watching as the wispy silver floated into the sky. He remembered being a teenager. Of marching up to his own town’s mayor and accusing her of accepting bribes. He remembered the rush of power and how good it had felt to see her arrested. “There’s something about her. I can’t get a fix on it.” 

“Are you sure it’s not just your latent libido coming into play?” Came a cool, teasing voice, that was eerily familiar. The young detective whipped around, and coughed on his smoke as he spotted Toni Topaz in the navy blue police uniform; pink hair tucked under her hat. He smiled, a little confounded as she leaned in for a hug. 

“Toni,” he greeted fondly, her body pressed familiarly against his own. “What are you doing here? Last I heard you were stationed in Watercress?” 

She shrugged balefully. “Transferred here a few months ago. Who do you think told these nitwits to call you?” She looked around him to Joaquin. “Didn’t I tell you?”

The skinny, brown haired man rolled his eyes but nodded. “You did.” And then to Jughead; “she did.” 

“But you wouldn’t know about that,” Toni said expectantly, crossing her arms. “Since you never return my calls.” 

Jughead grinned at her wryly. “Well, a) you broke up with me, and b) I didn’t realise I was the one being interrogated.” He lifted his eyebrows expectantly, but couldn’t keep it up, and sagged into the reassuring comfort of her presence. “This is a tough one, Toni. I’ve got a few ideas but everyone in there seems to be insane.” 

She lifted her hands in exasperation. “That’s the problem with small towns. But about this Betty chick, you’re into her?” 

He faltered, unsure whether it was worthwhile to lie when she’d be able to read him. He weighed on the side of truth. They’d been quite the pair together; brutal and relentless in solving crime. “There’s something about her,” he said honestly, “not sure what it is yet. Attraction and fear; a thin line separates them.” 

“Does it?” Joaquin asked skeptically, but Jughead chose to ignore him. 

“Well then,” Toni clapped him on the shoulder, and stole the cigarette from between his fingers. “For your sake, I hope she didn’t do it. You need to get yourself a woman.” 

He snorted. “Get myself a woman?” 

She looked at him appraisingly, before nodding. “No, you’re right. You need to be  _ got  _ by a woman.” 

He stared after her fondly, before realising the smoke break, in spite of his smoke being taken, had done precisely what he needed it to do. His head felt clear and rational again, no longer full of hazy anger and irritation. He felt like everything was slotting neatly together. He felt like he knew what to discount and what to count. There were some liars and secrets in that diner for sure, but there was only one murderer- probably- and he was going to find out who it was. The gravel crunched like wet mush under his feet as he strode back in, and he tempered down any emotion at the sight of Reggie leaning across the booth and blatantly flirting with his woman-  _ jesus no  _ he thought to himself, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. Not his fucking woman. Just a woman. 

He tugged off his coat and hat, shoving them messily into the booth and blinking at the sight of black coffee in front of him. “I thought you might want a pick me up,” Betty murmured, cutting off Reggie’s latest attempt, and he shot her a small smile as he picked up the styrofoam. It was bitter, but not poisoned, so he took a deep, scathing gulp to better alert himself. 

“Reggie Mantle,” he sighed once he’d drunk about half, shoving the notebook towards him. “Did you know nearly everyone in this diner thinks that you killed Jason? Write your name please.” 

This didn’t seem to unnerve the old bulldog in the slightest as he wrote down his name; shrugging. “Yeah, and everyone in this diner doesn’t know a damn thing because they ain’t the cops. You are.” 

_ Technically a detective  _ he wanted to say, but decided against it. After all, Reggie was being cooperative. There was no need to rile him up. “That’s true.” He agreed amicably. “Do you know why they think you and Jason were on bad terms, though? You can be honest with me, I won’t…” he tapped his pocket, gesturing to where Reggie’s jingle-jangle was poking through. The sharp jawed man hurriedly shoved them further into his shirt. “I’m not here looking to put anyone away for drug dealing, or even theft. I just want to know who killed the boy in that bathroom. You think you can help me with that?” 

Reggie nodded; shakily, and slid back the notebook. Small, block capitals neatly defined but lightly written. “Yeah, okay, yeah.” He murmured, and Jughead felt his own position about this man change. Reggie wanted to be helpful, he wanted to feel valued and useful. Jughead swallowed thickly as he realised this man was lonely. He sold drugs for human interaction, and in spite of his good looks, he had yet to find someone he truly cherished. He hadn’t killed Jason; it was the easiest write off Jughead had ever experienced. This guy would feel guilty over swatting a fly. “He’d been really upset, lately. We uh...we ran a few deals together out of state, we were friends.” He cringed as if was the first time he was saying it. Jughead wasn’t surprised. “After a while, I think some shit went down at home. He didn’t wanna do it anymore. I was supportive; I felt bad for the guy. I didn’t want him to end up like me, so I said sure.” 

Betty frowned, and Jughead watched her tap the table curiously. “So you guys didn’t have a fight? I swear I’ve heard you fight.” 

Reggie shrugged. “Maybe you were hearing someone else, but Jason doesn’t yell. He gets quietly angry. A real quiet sort of...real furious like. Anyway, after he told me he wanted out, he stopped seeing me. Walled himself up in that creepo of a house: Blossom Manor.”

Jughead tapped his pen against the pages thoughtfully. “You didn’t know he’d be here tonight?” 

“Nah man, for sure,” Reggie insisted, rubbing at his face. “I mean, we all had an inkling, I think. Everyone in town. It’s the anniversary of the…” he mimed shooting a gun, and Jughead nodded, a little amused at his lack of tact. “I was already here when he showed up. I was happy to see him somewhere that wasn’t that gloom-droom mansion.” 

“Why do you think no one heard the gunshot?” He asked, and was momentarily distracted by Betty fiddling with something under the cut of her dress. It was her bra strap she was adjusting he realised with a dry mouth, and forced his eyes away. 

Reggie shook his head. “I don’t know. Can you get silent guns? I mean, I have no idea. I’m a pistol guy, and the Blossom chick’s scream is still ingrained in like my head.” 

“Even with a silencer you’d need a muffle.” Jughead murmured, biting his bottom lip. “A cushion or something.” A small bulb flickered in his head, and he swivelled to look at Reggie more carefully. “You said Jason had been upset lately?” 

Reggie nodded, looking at Betty instead of him. “Well, yeah.” 

“Jason had depression.” Betty reminded, him, but Jughead shook his head; eyebrows furrowing. 

“No, no, you don't say someone’s been upset lately, if they’re experiencing depression. They’re sad, they’re down, but they’re not  _ upset.”  _ He looked at Reggie, peering deep through his eyes. “What happened to make Jason so sad?” Reggie’s gaze flickered to Betty yet again, and Jughead was feeling a dawning comprehension rising within him. “You don’t know, do you, Reggie? Not precisely. But it has something to do with Betty.” He shifted in the booth, turning to face her and she was literally cornered against the wall. “What aren’t you telling me? Did you know Jason?” 

“No! Barely,” she gasped, struggling for air. “My mom- that’s all , my mom writes such mean articles. I think she wrote one that hurt his feelings when he started closing down his businesses.” 

It wasn’t making sense. Jason started closing down his businesses  _ after  _ whatever made him sad had happened. She was lying, and she was desperate, and yet his instincts weren’t letting him see her as the killer. “You’re lying to me, Betty.” He whispered harshly, gripping her wrists in his as they hovered over the briefcase. “Just tell me the truth-” she twisted against him, forcing their upper bodies together at an awkward angle. Her breasts were pressed flush against him, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment; she used the distraction to yank away from him. “Femme fatale.” He whispered, eyes blown wide. “Did you do it, Betty?”

“No! No, I wouldn’t-”

“She didn’t, man.” Reggie offered, looking between them rapidly. “She wouldn’t do that. Betty’s the nicest girl in Riverdale-”

“I’ll ask Veronica Lodge about that.” He hissed, yanking his notebook off the table and spilling the coffee all over the surface. Coffee she’d bought for him as a pick-me-up. A nice gesture. Kindness or killer? The brown, sloshing liquid made him falter. His eyes met hers. Big, blue and earnest she stared at him. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. 

So he turned away, striding across the diner and plonked himself into the booth beside Archie, and opposite the raven-haired girl in an expensive dress. Archie greeted him with a friendly shoulder punch, and Veronica looked up from the napkin she was currently writing on with….purple lipgloss. Jughead arched an eyebrow, and she shrugged. “You’re taking notes on everyone else, so I thought I’d take notes on you. See how you like it.” She informed him in a prim, haughty voice. 

He rolled his eyes, opening his notebook. “Consider me put in my place.” He said sarcastically, pushing it towards her. “Write your full name please.” He turned to Archie who offered him a sweet, apologetic grin. Damn he was likeable. It was the perfect quality in a murderer. If it turned out the ginger hero had killed Jason, Jughead wasn’t even sure he wanted him arrested. The notebook was pushed back towards him and he examined it with faux-indifference. She wrote her name like a signature; a business woman through and through. “You still use your maiden name,” he pointed out, and she glared at him lethally. 

“I’m a Lodge and Archie understands that. Don’t you, Archiekins?”

“Sure, Ronnie,” he said easily; water off a duck’s back, “it doesn’t bother me.” 

Jughead resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and suddenly missed Betty beside him. Someone to make mutual-suffering eye contact with. It was scary, how quickly he’d become co-dependent. He looked over to his dark booth, where she was now sitting alone; slowly mopping up the coffee he’d spilt. Reggie was back in his own booth, looking forlorn and despondent. He pulled himself back into focus. “Veronica, did your dad know Jason?” 

She shrugged. “Hard to say. Daddy knows everybody.” 

_ Typical _ . “Well, tell me this, do you think Betty Cooper is capable of something as horrendous as this crime?” 

That got a response. She startled hard and her face went through a complex myriad of expressions. He had the impression she was normally a very good poker player, but there was something about the blonde that brought out a softer side to her. He could understand that.  “Betty is an angel.” She settled on eventually, and Jughead hummed, pretending to write something down. 

“She told me that you lied about your father buying the Drive-Inn land. I think I saw it on the way into town, actually. Nothing built on it. It looked fairly derelict.” He felt Archie stiffen beside him and resisted the urge to gloat.  _ Aim and hit.  _ He cocked his head a little smugly, and Veronica narrowed her eyes at him. As if she was onto his game. 

She capped her lip gloss with dainty fingers and smirked. “Betty and I are long over that little spat. She was probably telling you all about it in recollection.” 

“So you don’t mind that she thinks your father had something to do with Jason’s murder? That he hired Reggie to kill him? Tell me, does your father know how to make an honest living? Or is crime and drugs the only way to succeed?”  

Her eyes were ice and he felt frozen on the spot. The words had tumbled ceaselessly past his lips; harsh and scathing. “I don’t really care who you are,  _ Jughead.  _ You think you’re some big shot because you can solve murders? Because you think you see things?”

“Ronnie,” Archie interjected quietly, but she paid him no heed. Jughead was beginning to take her more seriously. She was definitely rich enough and with enough connections to get the poison. 

“I stand by my father and I always have. You don’t know anything about him. I didn’t know Jason, but I do know my father and he would never do something like that. You think you know better?” She scoffed, “you think you know me? Well you take one long look at me and see.”

Feeling small and a little put in his place, Jughead straightened defensively in his seat. “Okay. You asked for it.” He took her in then; the perfect makeup and the raven hair. “You can afford to waste your things,” he murmured, reaching for her napkin smeared with lip gloss. “Money has never been an issue for you. I bet that even when your father was in prison, you and your mom had it pretty good. I think that you can recognise the difference between right and wrong but let family loyalty dissuade you.” People were starting to look now: Jughead could feel the prickling gaze of Kevin, Moose and Reggie. Betty, thankfully, her blue stare he could not detect. “You’re ungrateful. And not just of money, but everything. Look at the  _ state  _ of this town. You’re telling me your dad owns it? Owns what? A dump? A faded, dying husk of a thing? To quote Wilde: A dead thing covered with gold? And to top it off,” he shook his head, the creeping loneliness of existence taking long-used residence in his heart. “You’re ungrateful of the friends you have, of the husband you have. If I had even half-” He turned to look at Betty then, purposely, and her piercing blue eyes were staring straight at him. Wide and awed. He cleared his throat and pulled his own green orbs away. “When I look at you, Miss Lodge, I think I see someone with so much potential; blindsighted by the glamour of being rich in a poor town.” He leaned back, setting down the napkin on the table. Voice croaky and exhausted. “That’s what I see.”

She looked halfway torn apart. Archie was hovering over the booth protectively, but her gaze was fixed dead straight on the detective. Water glittered like diamonds in them. Flustered and looking for something to do with her limbs, she used them to adjust the purple crystalled alice-band in her hair. “You…” she whispered, before looking down humbly at her own hands which now lay in her lap. “My dad knew Reggie. But I don’t think he ever knew Jason.”

Her softness made him, by comparison, seem rather heartless. The guilt ebbed at his conscience and he sighed. “Listen, Veronica. I don’t know you-”

“You do though,” she insisted quietly, directing her face towards Archie. “I’ve never treated you right, Archiekins. You chose my parents over your own, and I- I never should have asked that of you.” 

Archie embraced her with his soft smile. “You never had to ask me, Ronnie. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

“I’d do anything for you, too,” she insisted, and Jughead cleared his throat before they could renew their wedding vows. Veronica turned back to him. “Betty couldn’t have killed anyone. Unlike me, her heart isn’t encased in ice.” She reached over to grab Archie’s hand boldly, and he looked slightly surprised by the blatant act of intimacy. “But I’m working on it.” 

He liked Veronica. A little. Her facade had been weak but instead of rising against exposure, she’d flown with it rather easily. Betty was staring at him, forgiveness in her eyes, desire in the pout of her lips and he nearly lurched for her. Instead, he could feel the end drawing near, and excused himself. He limped, fatigued and strung out, towards the “pussycats” and ignored any semblance of professionalism. He was worn out and confused and his mind felt muddy. The sort of lack of clarity that could not be cured by a cigarette and the night air. “Hey,” he greeted, and they all stared at him. “Did you guys do it or what?” He slurred casuaully. 

The one with shortest hair frowned at him incredulously. “Do  _ what?  _ Kill Jason? No, we didn’t.” She snapped. 

“What about the....” he waved his hand a little, and half smiled when the one opposite him grinned, “...speakeasy?” 

“That sucked, yeah, but we’re not going to kill him over it. We have an image to uphold after all.” 

“The Pussy Cats is a family friendly band.” 

Jughead hummed thoughtfully, turning to the one who was obviously their leader. “What’s your name again?”

She didn’t answer, so he turned his eyes towards the one who he’d managed to coax a smile out of, and sure enough, she caved. “That’s Josie and I’m Valerie.” She said with a friendly grin. “Don’t worry, she’s just protective over us.”

He laughed, and then cut off the sound half way. He sat up straight.  _ Protective over us  _ he repeated in his head, and scrambled up for his notebook. He leapt across the diner and nodded when Betty dodged out of the way. He flipped through the pages; thinking hard.  _ Protective over us  _ of course, because there were two other Pussycat members that Josie had to look after. And  _ us _ was for plural. But someone else had used that word. Someone else had used that word and he looked up from his pages to see Betty’s shapely waist and then up higher to her worried, anxious eyes. 

_ My mom can be...difficult. She expects so much from us.  _ That’s what Betty had said. But- her file. Her file hadn’t mentioned siblings, but that was the only explanation, wasn’t it? And why would the Coopers hate the Blossoms? But why  _ wouldn’t  _ Betty hate Cheryl? And Archie, what was it Archie had said before their burgers arrived about Jason:  _ Everything he had was taken from him.  _ Married to a secret Cooper who died? Cheryl’s admancy over depression but Reggie’s casual use of the word “upset”. He began pacing, whirling on his heal every couple of steps. Everything was cementing into place. The way Archie had lied when saying that Betty didn’t know Jason, the way that Reggie kept looking to her, as if in confusion and searching for the right answer. But no- his mind swerved from Betty a little. What was it she’d said? _ I swear I’ve heard you fight _ . That’s what she’d said to Reggie about Jason. She’d said what Cheryl wanted her to say. But why-

The ring of the bell caught his attention and he looked up to see Toni with Cheryl. Cheryl, as he’d recommended, had changed clothes. She looked more comfortable in a grey cotton dress, and Toni’s police jacket hanging over her shoulders. Her shoulder. He tried to remember what Cheryl had been wearing earlier- the blazer. The plaid reddish orange blazer with shoulder pads. Shoulder pads big enough to hide a small pillow.  _ Even with a silencer you’d need a muffle. A cushion or something.  _ That’s what he’d explained to Reggie. The only person who knew for sure that Jason would be here, the only person who’d been sitting at the booth with him. She and Veronica were the only two rich enough to buy poison. Sure, Veronica had connections- her father was a known criminal, but Cheryl’s father too: a murderer. 

_ Cheryl loved her brother. More than anyone in the world, she would have done anything for him.  _ That’s what Betty had told him during their interview, right after she’d backed Cheryl’s story and accused Reggie. The door to the diner closed; his thoughts racing, and all eyes were on him. The scent of the fresh air brought another memory: the smell of the breeze carrying the scent of garbage. The window- the window had been open, and the garbage can was outside and-

“I know who killed Jason.” He choked out, and everyone gasped. Toni stepped forward. 

“Who was it?” She demanded, hand flying to the gun holstered at her waist.

He dragged his hands through his hair, “if you pull the dumpster outside that window; there’ll be a gun in it. A silencer. And- and Betty, Betty, you  _ knew.  _ You knew, and- you have a sibling, don’t you? A brother or a sister?” He stalked up to her, and when she didn’t speak, he shook her shoulders desperately. His fingers tight as a vice on her skin. “Don’t you?”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. And then tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes.” She choked. “A sister.”

He barrelled on, caught up in the whirlwind of deduction. “Jason and your sister were dating, weren’t they? And a few months ago, something happened, didn’t it? She leave him or something? And you-” he whirled towards Cheryl, who was standing there in stunned silence. “You saw how depressed he was, everyone saw it. He wanted to die. He wanted to kill himself, didn’t he?” She didn’t move, but her face was an open book. He devoured the words written there. “But he wasn’t strong enough. So you decided to do it for him. You’re no stranger to suicide. You bought poison and laced his milkshake, but then he didn’t drink it, did he? Who knew milkshakes weren’t the proper food for mourning family?” He stepped towards her, and softened his voice, catching his breath. “When he went to the bathroom, you followed him in. You gave him the gun, didn’t you? Your back up plan. He did it himself maybe, or maybe you did it for him. But one of you held the muffler you’d hidden in your blazer in place. Suicide. But you couldn’t bear it- couldn’t bear that shame.  _ That’s  _ why you didn’t do it at home where no one would see. It was too obvious. You needed suspects. You needed a crime. So you wiped his hands of residue, screamed for help and ran out. As everyone went to investigate you ditched the gun out the window, and waited for Reggie to get put away.” 

Reggie sat up; eyes betrayed. “What the hell, Cheryl? Why would you do that-”

“It didn’t have to be you!” She screamed in confirmation of his theory, voice shaking the diner into quiet. “It could have been anyone! It just couldn’t have been-” she sobbed, a loud, ugly thing from her chest, “it just couldn’t have been _me.”_  

Betty started weeping, and collected Cheryl into her arms. “Cheryl,” she whispered, as Toni stared between them in shock. 

“Miss Cooper,” she called, “you have a sister and you didn’t think to tell us?” 

“Polly’s not dead.” Betty insisted, though her shaking voice and frantic eyes suggested otherwise. “She’s not. She’s not dead. Polly’s fine.” 

“Fuck.” Kevin whispered, swallowing thickly. 

Jughead felt something pull him towards her, and he pushed Toni aside to touch her bare arm. She didn’t flinch away, but she broke down, and clung to him as a lifeline. He held her as best he could, and watched as Cheryl started weeping too; her red hair diffusing into the slowly ending night behind her. 

 

  

“You’re the best, bro,” Sweet Pea grinned, slapping his shoulder. The scarlet sunrise cut streaks across their faces and burned their eyes a little. “He did it to himself? Best murder ever.” 

“Yeah,” Jughead echoed, watching Cheryl and Toni talk quietly by one of the police cars. “He did it to himself. You’ll...you won’t go too hard on Cheryl, will you? For hiding the evidence? She was….it was her brother.” 

Sweet Pea nodded understandingly. “Oh yeah sure, she’s had a rough time of it anyway.” He winked. “Is it her you’re really worried about though?” 

Jughead turned to see Betty standing beside Veronica and Archie. Her eyes were sore and puffy, and her long blue dress stood in perfect contrast to the black tarmac beneath her. Her hair was frayed here and there. The three of them were hugging tightly. They looked like good friends. Jughead wondered what it might be like to share a booth with them someday. Because, in the light of morning, the diner didn’t look  _ that  _ despondent and beaten down. Withering, yes, but dead? No. The sunlight cast tempting shadows across the roof and the sign in the door was clean and inviting. Soon there wouldn’t even be a dead body in there and business might even pick up. 

He doubted it. But he hoped. Just like Pop. “She’s mourning.” Jughead said quietly, foregoing a cigarette to look out into the horizon. “She’s coming to terms with the death of her sister. She knew about Cheryl's plan, and she...She needs time to heal.” 

“I know.” Sweet Pea grinned; undeterred. It made sense, Jughead supposed. PD saw more gruesome stuff on a regular basis. This was just meat and potatoes for Sweet Pea. “Why can’t she heal with you? You telling me you’re fine?” 

He laughed a little. “God no. I’m not fine.” 

“Well, then,” he shrugged, “you’re perfect for each other.” 

With a sigh but a resolute nod, Jughead pulled away from Sweet Pea and walked over to Betty, his hat literally in his hands. She saw him coming and ducked away from Veronica and Archie for to meet him halfway. He pressed his lips together when the words didn’t come, and instead, reached up to place his fedora on her head. 

She giggled, and he was utterly charmed by her. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” He confessed, and she stared up at him; sadness and possibilities on her face. “I think even if you had killed Jason, I would have asked you on a date when I visited you in prison.” 

“Really? That’s thoughtful.” 

“And romantic?”

She bit her bottom lip enticingly, and nodded shyly. A long, blonde strand hung down her face and he brushed it back into her ponytail. She sighed longingly. “Definitely romantic. Romantically morbid.” 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels nervously. “We could change the genre a bit, maybe. Moving forward.” He suggested, before realising she must be cold in the early morning air. And exhausted. They were all exhausted. He tugged off his coat and helped her slide her arms into it. In his hat and coat she looked half like a little girl playing dress up  and half like a ridiculously skinny detective. The cold air pricked at his skin and he shivered a little at the loss of layers. She ducked closer to him in recompense. 

“What genre would you suggest?” She asked quietly.

He whistled at the sky, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Oh, I don’t know. Romantic comedy, maybe?” 

She cracked a small smile. “I’m a bit of a crime suspense girl, myself.” 

“Oh god no,” he insisted, slinging his arm over her shoulders as they walked towards the sunrise. “I can’t stand murder mysteries, can you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it :) mwah mwah x

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment/prompt/declaration of love on your way out
> 
> *bows*
> 
> mwah mwah


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